


To Be Free of Temptation

by anselm0



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Body Dysphoria, Fanart, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lack of Communication, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 14:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19358911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anselm0/pseuds/anselm0
Summary: “What would you suggest we do instead, then?”Maybe it was the way he said it, the way Flint was sitting with his knees sprawled out, or the secrets he guarded so closely; Silver didn’t know what it was, but somebody’s Devil took ahold of his tongue then and he said, “I think we should fuck.”(The tags sound dire but everybody ends up having a great time! More details in the notes.)





	To Be Free of Temptation

**Author's Note:**

>   * A million thanks to [Caesarsbuddy](https://caesarsbuddy.tumblr.com) for amazing art!! Gabriel went above and beyond to illustrate the scene exactly how I imagined it and he takes commissions, so go see what else he's done and share the love!
>   * Title from Oscar Wilde's _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ : "The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful."
>   * Re: the tags. **spoilers** Body dysmorphia: Silver's discomfort with his leg's appearance and how other people see him runs throughout the story but especially when he takes off his clothes in front of Flint. Rape/non-con: Silver participates in a sex act he doesn't like and associates with past non-con experiences because he thinks that's what Flint wants. Flint realizes almost immediately and stops while they work out where they went wrong. They don't have a modern understanding of consent but with better communication, they end up having good sex. 
> 


Sometimes, but seemingly more often these days than before, Silver remembered a man he had seen on the streets of Bristol. He hadn’t been a beggar but chose to spend his days on the corner of Market Street declaiming that the Devil was tempting us every day and we must take shelter in the house of the Lord. He would have a bowl out, supposedly for donations to his parish, but he clearly spent no time there distributing funds to the needy. Personally, if he was running that scam, Silver would have said the Devil was  _besieging_  us every day, to make the metaphor stronger, but he’d left England for the promise of sunnier climes. He wouldn’t ever be able to do it now; no matter what he said, all anybody would see would be a panhandling cripple.

Two months ago, that thought would have put him in a dark mood, but Silver was distracted now. He noticed the thought passing through his mind and absently squeezed the arm of his chair to keep from touching his leg, which hurt enough already, but his attention stayed on Flint. Flint was not doing anything interesting, just going through the ship’s ledger and pointedly ignoring Silver. Flint seemed to take some sort of half-pleasure in ignoring him these days. It was insulting, but Silver couldn’t fully resent him for it. At least Flint was taking pleasure in something. And if nothing else, it gave Silver the opportunity to study him.

Flint's character was an endless fascination and frustration to Silver. He was both relentlessly consistent and completely unpredictable. Even in reaction to something as simple as Silver lingering in his cabin, Flint was both reliably irritated and unreliably fickle. After a few tests of Flint’s patience, Silver hadn’t been able to work out what caused Flint to act like he took no notice of Silver some days and order him out on others. 

Figuring out Flint's motivations was the main goal of his observation, but part of Silver’s interest was in his own inability to keep quiet in the face of Flint’s pretended indifference. And it was definitely pretended. If Silver only shifted minutely in his chair, Flint would keep writing but his entire demeanor sharpened in anticipation. Maybe that was why Silver couldn’t stay away or keep his mouth shut; he just couldn’t resist trying to surprise Flint and defy his uncanny knack for predicting men’s behavior.

Maybe they were too similar in deed for Silver to understand Flint’s thought process. Flint’s instincts for manipulating the men would have made him as good a con as Silver was, if not better, but he was bizarrely straightforward in his motives. As he would not hesitate to tell anybody who asked, Flint did everything for the sake of Nassau’s future. It was understandable why people would find that asserted altruism suspicious, but Silver had never seen him do anything contrary to those ends, even if he framed them strategically to the men to make them eager to risk their lives going over the rail for the great cause. To Silver, who would never be eager to go over the rail, Flint didn’t bother with the prevarication. To Silver, he spoke only of personal gain, or these days, status on the crew. That acknowledgement of distinction from the other men he largely considered dispensable lit a spark of pride in Silver. He did not want it to grow into dangerous overconfidence, yet he kept hoping Flint would feed it.

Flint turned the page in the ledger. Somehow, the sound of the paper shifting and his quill tapping against the ink bottle’s neck made it obvious he was annoyed at Silver specifically. Silver had already known that, and so ignored it. He noted instead that Flint’s hand was fine for a sailor. He didn’t bother with flourishes, but his letters were neat and unhesitatingly drawn. Dufresne had been a tutor, so it made sense that he knew a smattering of classic subjects and had good penmanship to go along with his arithmetic. Flint’s origin, though, was a mystery.

It was evident he had a fairly extensive education and love of literature, but he did not speak any language but English and a truly awful smattering of Spanish. He had none of the mannerisms that suggested he came from gentry or even the merchant class. As soon as he had seen Flint, Silver had figured him instantly for a Navy officer, but that piece of insight fit as awkwardly with the low birth and higher education as they did with each other. If such a man had achieved the station of an officer despite the disadvantages of his birth, why would he have left the Navy? Perhaps he had been dishonorably discharged instead of choosing to desert. But if he had been forced to leave, what could have made him so bitter against England?

To that muddle was added the short but infuriating history of Silver’s own experiences with Flint. He was the worst person in the West Indies Silver could have found his fate entwined with. Of course, Silver would find the one man in the world whose lust for riches and disinterest in forging social ties would match his own and yet that man would be Flint. Flint, who seemed not to want a single piece of Spanish gold for his own enrichment and now had set his cap on destroying the most powerful empire in the modern world, one colony at a time. When Flint talked about the threat of England and the opportunity presented in living beyond empire, Silver could tell he was sincere and probably going to hang or die bloody for it, but he still couldn’t stop listening. Sometimes, he almost believed it, too. Flint was magnetic. No wonder the men thought his speeches persuading them to follow him into battle were aided by bewitchment. The intensity of Flint’s focus was breathtaking. He was terrifying in his readiness to sacrifice anyone to his ends but irresistible in making you want to be a part of achieving them. Silver hated that he was nearly as susceptible to Flint’s strange draw as the rest of them. Despite months of scheming against and with Flint, Silver could not understand him, nor his own inexplicable—fondness for him.

Even in mundane activity, Silver felt drawn to watch him. When Flint stood at the rail and stared out at the waves, ignoring the men working around him, Silver itched to know what he was thinking. Sometimes, he thought Flint might be lonely. Not lonely enough to take advantage of Silver’s offers of friendship yet, but he had only let go of the grudge over how they had met after the disaster in Charles Town. Flint had been busy ransacking the Atlantic seaboard, but he would eventually regret the absence of the sort of close relationship he'd had with Mr. Gates. Silver was still angling to be the best option available when Flint wanted a new confidant. He wanted to see more of Flint, to get more from a man who gave so little. If Flint would only show the smallest crack to him Silver was sure he could be the Moses to draw water from the stone.

This ambition was hardly in his self-interest; Silver had sold the Urca wreck to Max, and the last month had shown Flint was not likely to make him rich anytime soon, but Silver wasn’t good at self-denial when something sparked his curiosity. It was too bad that something was the mystery of Flint, but there was no use in denying it and no house of the Lord to shelter Silver from the temptation out at sea.

“Is there some ship’s business you’d like to discuss, Mr. Silver?”

Flint sounded irritated that he had been the first to break. He had finished with the ledger and apparently couldn’t stand Silver’s presence any longer. Perhaps he had some entry to make in his log that required privacy, though Silver hadn’t found anything interesting when he had leafed through them during his convalescence.

Silver felt caught out when Flint finally looked up at him, which was stupid since he hadn’t been hiding his study of Flint. As much as he tried to get Flint’s attention, having it was almost worse than not having it. Silver always felt either unbearably vital or unbearably insignificant under Flint’s gaze, or sometimes both.

Betraying none of this tumult, he smiled. “There is, actually.”

“I thought there might be,” Flint said drily, as Silver had had a ready excuse for lingering the other times. They both knew they were excuses, but Flint didn’t seem to care what Silver’s real motive for staying behind was. That was—frustrating. It was safer to be insignificant, yet Silver hated the thought of being a man beneath Flint’s notice.

“I wanted to discuss the vanguard.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You’re going to tell me that I shouldn’t be on it because my judgment is compromised. Or you’re going to say that the men I placed on it are too bloodthirsty, not taking rich enough prizes to justify the risks, implying that I am similarly lacking in focus. Or you’re going to suggest that the whole enterprise of sacking towns is less profitable than taking ships. The account shows modest but stable profits. We have lost fewer men in raids than we did in boarding ships, so there have been fewer death and injury payments, as well as less damage to the ship than we would risk in a fight. And given those facts, I doubt anyone would say that my judgment as captain is suspect.”

Flint sat back in his chair, regarding Silver with cool self-assurance. He spoke in calm, quiet tones. He looked easy and powerful, even as he was talking absolute nonsense.

 “You’re the butcher of Charles Town,” Silver reminded him incredulously. “The same unflattering illustration of you is in every newspaper from Beaufort to Boston. If you approached any merchant ship in the Caribbean, they would never risk that fight, so there would be low risk to both the men and the ship. But what I wanted to say about the vanguard is that it may be profitable, but it could be more profitable.”

Silver was making this up on the spot. What he had been going to say in fact was Flint should not be on it because it was an unnecessary risk when it didn’t seem to be making Flint feel any better. “Your name and banner are feared throughout the New World. You don’t need as many men sowing fear and mayhem on each raid as you do. Put more of them toward looting. And, I might add, we might leave them to wait longer between attacks. You’re becoming a bit too predictable.”

“Predictable,” Flint repeated flatly.

“It’s hard to be afraid of something you understand.”

Flint remained silent, which Silver took as acknowledgement he had made a good point. He squeezed the chair arm again so he would have something to do instead of looking away.

“What would you suggest we do instead, then?”

Maybe it was the way he said it, the way Flint was sitting with his knees sprawled out, or the secrets he guarded so closely; Silver didn’t know what it was, but somebody’s Devil took ahold of his tongue then and said, “I think we should fuck.”

For a moment after the words left his lips, Silver felt like he, too, was outside of his body, looking at himself and Flint looking at each other over the captain’s desk. That John Silver was caught between his old habit of smiling insouciance and a more serious demeanor while Flint was as inscrutable as ever, his attention in its startling entirety focused solely on Silver.

“I was referring to the crew,” Flint finally said, bringing Silver back to his body. The pain in his leg was, at least, an inescapable tie to reality.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t say no to shore leave, but I was offering on my behalf alone.”

Flint’s cheek twitched, which sent a tiny thrill through Silver. He liked having some effect, though before now, he wouldn’t have said he would risk life and remaining limb with such a bald-faced ploy to rile Flint.

He had thought about it, of course. Sailing was incredibly boring and begat all sorts of odd thoughts. But it was not so odd, Silver fancied, that Flint would inspire those thoughts specifically. He was good-looking enough, even if he was nobody’s idea of handsome, exactly. Though his appearance had many appealing qualities, Silver had decided Flint’s presence was the real attraction. When he made his speeches, when he promised the world would bend itself to his will and then  _it did_ , against all reason and expectation, Flint was irresistibly compelling. He carried himself like he knew it, and that was compelling, too. Silver would not be surprised if that, and not the late Mrs. Barlow, was why the men suspected Flint of witchcraft.

And Silver had come to suspect that Flint might have been amenable to such an assignation before. James was a common name, but what were the odds that the suggestive inscription in the book Flint kept in his desk was for a different James? And if it was for him, it was from someone other than Mrs. Barlow, someone who considered Flint their  _truest_  love, suggesting other, less true loves. What sort of shame would such a lover be referring to? Granted, it was a leap to think T.H. might have been a man, but Silver had an intuition. He wasn’t in the habit of ignoring those. And if he was very honest with himself, if he were ever asked to contemplate what Flint would be like as a lover, Silver would be forced to say that having Flint’s undivided attention and relentless pursuit of a goal between your legs must be spectacular. But as often as he contemplated it in the privacy of his own mind, Silver wasn’t sure he was ready to test that theory.

It was just as well, then, that all Flint gave him in answer to his rash proposition was a curt order to get out. Silver obeyed, not sure if the feeling in his gut was disappointment or relief.

* * *

For two days, Flint was conveniently preoccupied with other matters. Since he hadn’t woken up dead and Flint was careful not to snub Silver to the point that the men would get nervous about a falling out, Silver decided not to worry. He had been pretty sure he had felt Flint’s gaze lingering on him from the quarterdeck, too, and he took that as a sign Flint might not always be so quick to send him away.

 The next time Flint was forced to call Silver into his cabin, he was soon was proven right. Even with Billy there, Flint seemed to be on edge but trying to hide it, holding himself unusually still behind his desk. It put Silver much at ease to see, which only aggravated Flint further. Billy kept looking between them, curious but doing his level best to pretend the strange atmosphere hanging over their interaction didn’t exist.

It was nice to be the tempting Devil rather than the sinner when it came to Flint, even if Silver could so far entice him to sins of wrath only. Hadn’t that street preacher said sins begat sins? Flint did a lot of sinning by any measure, but Silver flattered himself he was in a rare category. Perhaps sins of lust would soon come.

When Billy left, instead of acting like he hadn’t noticed Silver stay behind, Flint fixed him with a hard stare. “Any more ship’s business?”

Smiling, Silver made a show of relaxing more deeply into his chair. “There’s a crack in the capstan.”

“That would be dangerous, if it was a crack in the capstan and not its cladding. Mr. DeGroot has already complained to me and as I told him this morning, it’s superficial.”

Silver held up both hands in a placating gesture. “I promised I would pass it along to you, and I have. Please feel free to argue with him further without involving me.”

When Silver didn’t add anything more and didn’t make a move to leave, Flint ground out, “Anything else?”

“No.”

Flint looked like he wanted to throttle him. It was strange this evidence of annoyance buoyed him, since Silver usually cultivated as friendly an air as possible. He never had managed it with Flint. Perhaps because Flint had so aloof an air and was unlikely to be friendly to anyone, any strong emotion was preferable to the disinterest he showed in most men. Quite opposite of his feelings the day they met, the last thing Silver wanted now was to be disinteresting.

“If you have nothing else to discuss, then you can leave.”

“I  _do_  have something I want to discuss.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Mr. Silver. My answer stands.”

“You didn’t give me an answer. You told me to get out, which could mean all sorts of things.”

“Generally, it doesn’t mean yes.”

“And yet it doesn’t necessarily mean no. In fact,” Silver continued before Flint could say so now, “I find it interesting that you haven’t made any substantial reply one way or another. It would be very easy to say yes. For that matter, it would be very easy for you to say no. I could hardly force you. You would only have to say that you don’t fuck men.”

Flint didn’t say anything to that, his anger turning cold and calculating. Even like this, having Flint’s full attention felt  _good_. Silver couldn’t really explain it. There was a lot about the way he felt around Flint that Silver had trouble explaining, to himself most of all.

It felt something like the days when Silver had been certain the Urca gold was a moment away from being in his grasp, a heightened sense of anticipation that made him eager to face whatever came next. He thought this was what men felt that made them go over the side in pursuit of riches. He knew that feeling was dangerous. When Flint had looked at him with such pride and warmth the day he woke up with his leg gone, the morass of overwhelming emotions that had filled Silver from those two causes had made him say that the gold had been stolen before he had realized what he was doing. Silver was more reckless because of the hunger to be seen that Flint inspired in him. He was helpless to stop acting on the feeling Flint inspired in him.

Part of it was because he wanted Flint in his bed, but the feeling was bigger than that, in some unfamiliar, horrible way. He wanted to be Flint’s equal, but more than that, he wanted Flint to treat him as an equal. He wanted to be indispensable, but not because he had skills Flint wanted put to his goals. He wanted—

Flint was not the first man Silver had wanted, but damned if he couldn’t figure out why Flint was the first to make him so incautious. 

“I think,” Silver said slowly when Flint stayed silent, “the reason you don’t say that is you can’t. Not just that it’s not true, because we both know you’re willing to lie and have lied to me before. Something has made you unwilling to speak that specific lie.”

Flint suddenly leaned forward to rest his forearms on the desk. “Tell me, what are you trying to pull? Other than my cock, I mean.”

Silver couldn’t fully stifle a laugh at Flint’s unexpected humor. “I can honestly say that I had no intention of bringing it up before I did. I also don’t think you’re likely to be as easily separated from your secrets as a sailor in a whorehouse. I have no intention of trying to manipulate you.”

“You expect me to believe that you’re just that desperate for a fuck?”

“I could find much less troublesome fucks than you on this ship if I wanted, and I won’t pretend that I’ll be heartbroken if you turn me down.”

Flint changed tack. “Then you think you can undermine my authority with the men or in Nassau.”

“Even if I thought the rumor would trounce your oft-demonstrated willingness to beat people to death with your bare hands,” Silver countered, half teasing, “I would hardly need to actually fuck you to start it.”

“Then it’s a pure power play. Something to make up for the loss of your leg and the Urca gold, your inability to leave the crew.” Flint’s eyes flicked down Silver’s body and he grimaced. He was—disgusted by him.

Speechless with furious humiliation, Silver couldn’t think of an appropriate response. He couldn’t think of anything. His chest trembled with rage. It must have been clear on his face that their repartee was done, but Silver took care to lean closer and carefully enunciate, “Fuck you.”

Quick enough that Silver might have imagined it, a look crossed Flint’s face. There was no telling what it might have been before Flint looked as stony and remote as ever. Silver used his last shred of pride to walk out without limping, feeling every step on the iron peg like the blades that had mutilated him all over again. He slammed the door and made sure his stride was steady until he went below deck.

* * *

It was Silver’s turn to ignore Flint. He dearly wished he could be more pointed about it, but the ship was not large, and he could not set the men on edge unless he was prepared to lead a mutiny. All he wanted to do was go back to the moment before Flint had confirmed the worst things Silver suspected about himself after Charles Town, but nothing could make that happen and he was too tired for mutiny. The only thing to do was wallow in his anger and avoid doing anything rash. So he did not shy from meeting Flint’s gaze, did not hesitate to speak with him when it was appropriate that he would, but Silver wouldn’t speak beyond that. He did not linger with Flint. And unlike the rest of the crew, Flint would read these signs and know that Silver hated to be in his presence now. That was all Silver could do. He hoped it would sting, just a little bit, for Flint to know he had made himself friendless once again.

Contributing no small portion to his anger was the fact he wasn’t sure if Flint was wrong to think Silver meant to use him somehow for his own ends. The crew’s reverence for him made Silver want to burn the whole world to ash, but Flint’s occasional, grudging respect made him feel more whole, more powerful. He craved it. It made awful, perfect sense that Silver would set his cap on finding his way into Flint’s bed, to capture his attention in any way he could.

He hadn’t fucked anyone since he lost his leg. The crew had bought him a night with Idelle, but she had read his mood without having to be told and, after making a good show of it, they had spent their time in bed gossiping. Now, he wished he had just done it. Now that he’d thought of having Flint, he couldn’t think of having anyone else. No one else could make him feel real like Flint could. It was intolerable that he should also be able to lay Silver bare and flayed with a few words. Words that weren’t even cruel, really, just keener than Silver could stand hearing at the moment.

But apart from the humiliation, Silver felt—insulted, in some obscure way. It wasn’t bizarre that Flint had made the assumption Silver’s motive in pursuing him was self-serving. Silver knew from experience that sex between men often meant something about their status instead of their hearts or even their passions. It happened on the Walrus and had on the merchant vessel he had taken from England. Silver would wager it happened on every ship on the sea, if only because men went for weeks with no company but their own. But as Flint must also know, it was not always for such mean reasons.

T.H. had once loved him, named Flint his truest love. Flint must have had some affection for him if T.H. felt he could make such a bold declaration to a man like Flint. But of course, in Flint’s eyes, such motives were beyond John Silver. He must be scheming against Flint, or flattering himself with the assignation. John Silver was no T.H., whoever the fuck that was.

Billy found him in the empty mess, tearing old ropes into kindling with prejudice. “That’s not for a quartermaster to do.”

“It’s what I fucking can do, so let me earn my keep.”

“Being quartermaster is what you do to earn your keep.” Billy glanced around the room and sat down on the end of the next bench over, lowering his voice. “Did Flint say something about it?”

Silver yanked his knife through an oily tangle of fibers and resented Billy for not being as stupid as he looked. “No.”

“Something happened,” he insisted. “You’ve been quarrelling for days. If it goes on much longer, someone is going to notice.”

“Apparently,  _someone_  already has.” Silver blew out an angry breath at the flat look he knew without looking was on Billy’s face. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing to do with the ship or the crew.”

“Isn’t it? Captain and quartermaster are at odds, it’ll end up affecting everybody sooner rather than later.”

“If you think I’m not up for the job, call for a vote.”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying. You’re getting nearly as paranoid as him, you know.”

“Perils along with the pleasures of command,” Silver said sarcastically, having to put aside his knife and pick at a salt-crusted knot with his fingernails.

Billy watched this a while, then sighed. “You said you could handle him.”

“Flint doesn’t want to be handled. Not by me, at least.” Even to his own ears, he sounded bitter about it. “Look, don’t worry about it unless the men start talking and don’t let them start talking. Flint didn’t do anything. It’s my pride that started it.”

“ _Your_  pride?”

“I do still have some, don’t I?”

The amount of violence in his voice seemed to take Billy aback. “I guess you do. I hadn’t noticed that before, but Flint always manages to bring out the worst in people. Don’t let him drag you further into his games.”

With that warning, Billy left.

Silver kept working, thinking about temptation and sins begetting more sins. He thought about the inevitable layer of gritty, stinging salt on everything and everyone who went on the fucking sea. His knuckles were dry and cracked from it by the time he had finished with the ropes, and that put Silver in mind of the capstan’s cracked cladding, belying its sturdy core. How dangerous it would be for them all if instead the façade was whole but hiding an instability in the mechanism.

Mood only darker for all this thinking, Silver tossed the kindling into the galley and hauled himself up the stairs into the hot midday sun. Even before he looked, he knew Flint was out on the quarterdeck; the crew was different when he stood over them. They kept their heads down and, not daring to fall behind or lose value to his crew, they bettered themselves as a collective. Flint clearly knew the effect of his foreboding demeanor and how to use it, but he never betrayed any effort to produce it.

Silver made his way around the deck, concealing the pain every step caused him as he played the part of quartermaster. Pirates, he had come to know since leaving England, were the most superstitious and skittish beings alive, equally on edge if things changed suddenly or if they stayed the same too long. Silver thought they might need as much soothing as babes. Luckily for him, as with babes, the soothing need not be particularly technical or even sensible, only coming from a friendly, trusted source. He had years of practice playing that part, which so far made up for his having no inkling of the functions of all the ropes they were forever tying and untying and hauling on.

Flint appeared to take satisfaction in his ignorance and the crew’s tolerance of it, as if their electing Silver as quartermaster had proved Flint’s belief in their inferiority and stupidity. And yet Flint had once used the promise of the same crew’s esteem to try to manipulate Silver into going along with his plans. Silver couldn’t tolerate that lack of personal respect anymore, not when Flint had no respect for his position as quartermaster. Unlike anyone else left on the Walrus, perhaps everyone else in the world, Silver knew that he was a player in a story of Flint’s creation. Moreover, he was not persuaded to play the part that Flint had laid out for him, nor helpless to resist it, and Flint had seen the proof of it from the moment he thwarted Flint’s desire to kill him. That feat alone should have earned Silver some goddamned recognition from the captain.

He hadn’t used to care who respected him or didn’t, Silver mused as he stepped into the shade of the sails and leaned discreetly on the central mast. Realizing he wanted Flint had set loose a whole series of unhappy realizations about his changed character. In fact, every unfortunate thing he was learning about himself, it all came back to Flint. He wouldn’t have lost his leg, except Flint put the thought of being part of the crew in his head. His pride had never been a driving force in his life, except now that he was a cripple because of Flint, he had to guard every remaining scrap like a starving dog. But even before that, he couldn’t stand to have Flint disrespect him. It was no small part of why he had stolen the gold out from under him in the first place. And now, it was not only his need for caretakers that made Silver throw himself into the role of quartermaster; he wanted to show Flint he was not a poor choice, that he could be a partner to Flint as Mr. Gates had been. Given all that frustrated desire to have Flint’s approval, it was little wonder Silver had come to want Flint enough to say so, or that his rejection cut deeply.

What he had told Billy was truer than he had realized: his pride was to blame.

But, Silver reminded himself, he was only to blame for channeling the understandable desire for respect into an alarming sexual attraction. Whatever Flint thought about the crew, he needed them, and it was Silver that had saved them from execution by Vane’s men in the Charles Town harbor. There was hardly a man on the ship who did not owe Silver his life, including Flint. Silver had saved him, too, from drowning in Florida. He was owed respect, and he had every right to demand it.

The trick would be in forcing Flint to agree.

* * *

“You’re in my chair.”

Silver had heard him coming and made no move to not appear that he was indeed in Flint’s chair. It was more comfortable than the benches in the mess by far.

“My leg hurts.” As an explanation, it had the benefit of being beyond any doubt.

Flint shut the door and stepped forward warily. “You’re reading my log.”

“You kept me waiting. I got bored. Not that it helped; your writing leaves a lot to be desired.”

“It’s a log, not a novel,” Flint said, so drily one could almost think he believed Silver could have confused the two.

“I think all the honest people out there would be very disappointed with how unlike a novel real piracy is.”

Disappointingly but not unexpectedly given his contrarian nature, Flint failed to take the bait to opine on his subjects: the dishonesty and hypocrisy of civilized society. He was unreadable, watching Silver with a tense posture that advertised his readiness to strike as well as a wolf’s bared teeth. “Perhaps I should be more explicit: why are you in my cabin?”

Flint’s maintained space between them even as he clenched his fists at Silver touching his books. It made Silver want to needle him, but he resisted the temptation. “I wanted to speak to you. First, to tell you that I will not allow you to ruin our relationship as part of your narcissistic determination to make yourself the most miserable man in the world. And second,” he said over Flint’s attempt to reject that characterization, “to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Flint was startled out of his fighting stance. 

“For our last two meetings. I acted inappropriately. It was—I can’t think of another word but untoward.” He regretted his fumbling words, but Silver was annoyed to see Flint’s only reaction to his apology was a deep frown. “It isn’t a trick. I  _am_  sorry. It’s affected our ability to work together well, and you know that’s the last thing I want. The attraction was a misapprehension on my part. We needn’t speak of it again.”

Flint’s frown hadn’t dissipated. “Alright,” he grunted. “We’ll—pretend it never happened.”

“Oh, not entirely. As I can see how I behaved inappropriately, I’m sure you can see that you’ve behaved offensively.” Silver betrayed a small fraction of his fury in his smile. “I will let the insult you gave me pass this time. If you make it again, I will not bear it so magnanimously.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

That admission was probably the closest to an apology Silver would hear from him. It was good enough for what had passed, but he would not leave without pressing for more going forward. “As much as I regret this recent friction between us, it has been instructive. I’ve come to the realization that there is a lack of respect between us that threatens to be fatal.”

“Have you,” Flint asked flatly.

“If it was not for my actions, my assistance, you would not have this ship. You would not have your captaincy. You probably would have lost the Walrus and her crew to Hornigold. If not for me, you would certainly be dead at the bottom of the sea in Florida.” Silver leaned forward. “I have the respect of this crew because I have earned it at a very high price. I am owed the same from you, and you will pay me it.”

“Or what?” Flint stepped up to the edge of the desk, allowing the barrier between them but implying his ability to loom over Silver. “If I don’t pay the debt you think I owe, will you put me at the bottom of the sea?”

A nervous excitement thrilled in Silver, not for Flint’s menacing, but for what he had determined hours ago that this conversation would reveal. He spoke evenly: “I stole your gold. I planned it, I enlisted conspirators, and I did it all but on a whim. I looked you in the eye as I lied, and you believed me. You should take me at my word when I say that if I so desired, I could steal your ship, your crew, and your life.”

The cabin rolled on the tide, slipping the lamplight over Flint’s face and casting his eyes into shadow for a moment. As the light swung back, everything seemed to be shifting with it, and Silver didn’t know where they would come to rest.

Slowly, Flint drew closer to rest his fingertips against the far edge of the desk. “But you don’t desire that.”

Flint could not mean to sound so intimate. It wouldn’t show under his tan, but Silver felt heat rise in his face. He found himself inadvertently matching Flint’s tone. “No, I do not desire it. As I said, I’d rather be your partner.”

Flint nodded, his gaze lowering in thought. His eyelashes cast feathery shadows on his cheeks, a picture nearly as arresting as his gaze lifting to lock with Silver’s. “I’d rather a partner than another enemy, but how can I trust a man who just admitted to stealing from me?”

It was a question that concealed something, but Silver didn’t dare presume that it was what he thought it might be. He chose to answer with a truth. “For a start, you can trust I have no ambition as a pirate.”

A sly smile touched the corners of Flint’s mouth. “You’re in my chair.”

“Only because I have a sense for the dramatic.” That drew a soft huff of laughter from Flint. It delighted him absurdly, and Silver couldn’t stop being honest. “And my leg hurt.”

“Dr. Howell has been asking me to tell you to rest it more often.”

“He tells me the same thing,” Silver said shortly. He was irritated that this topic was intruding on their fragile new rapport more than he was by the topic itself. “I rest as much as I can. Consider your duty to him discharged.”

“I meant no offense. I understand the importance of maintaining appearances with the men. You  _know_  that I understand that burden. But they would not find it odd if you spend time here, in private conference with me or personally consulting—charts.” The look on his face made it clear how dubious Flint found the idea of Silver studying sea charts, but he concluded, “I will not think any less of you.”

As much as Silver hated to have his leg acknowledged, he stiffly recognized that Flint was offering an olive branch. “Thank you.”

“What I said,” Flint began awkwardly, disregarding his own wishes to pretend that night had never happened. “About your motives. I should not have. I don’t believe you’re—”

“I said we needn’t speak of it.” Nothing else could come of this conversation, so Silver pushed himself up onto his foot to make his escape. After sitting for several hours, however, the pressure against his stump caused an agonizing spasm that left him clutching the desk to stay upright. Shame washed hot and bitter down his throat. Of course his body would betray him as a useless cripple when Silver was insisting that he be respected. Flint had moved on instinct to help but stopped short of touching him, though that was nearly as humiliating. Silver loathed him for witnessing this; he loathed himself for being this, for being made this against his will.

“I knew you stole the Urca gold.”

“Beg pardon?”

Flint shrugged. “I suspected, at least, after I’d had time to think.” One side of his mouth quirked in a crooked smile. “The scouts we left behind were not clever enough for such a scheme. Did you really do it on a whim?”

“You lied about it still being your priority. It seemed a fair punishment.”

He hummed instead of acknowledging this, his eyes flicking down to Silver’s mouth. “I was angry at you for it. That’s why I’ve been withdrawn from you. But when you admitted it, I found I wasn’t angry anymore.”

Flint was looking at Silver’s mouth again. As distractions from his leg went, Silver would admit this was effective. He shifted so he was leaning against the table instead of clutching it. “Because you have no intention of reconciling with England anymore?” he guessed.

Flint stayed where he was, only inches away. “You could not have known that that would be the case, and no,” he murmured, barely louder than the creaking of the hull. “That is not it. I was angry and you had wronged me, so I chose to believe you were the cause of my anger. It was easier to believe that than face the truth. You already guessed it.” 

His eyes looked very green at this bare distance. Silver felt like he did after a gulp of laudanum, weightless but befuddled and unable to move. “I did not guess anything. I spoke inadvertently.”

Flint’s brow furrowed. “But you said—”

“I saw your book,” he admitted in a rush. “When I was recovering here. I recalled the inscription afterward and I suspected.”

He hadn’t meant to make it sound like he had discovered a conspiracy. Flint looked over at where the book was wedged onto the end of a shelf. Silver took the opportunity to shuffle a few inches away from him on the pretense of settling more comfortably against the desk. “You give nothing away,” he assured him, then winced. “Though I don’t presume that there is anything to give away.”

“There is.” Flint looked upset, but Silver thought it was directed mostly inward. “I do want—” He cut himself off, uncharacteristically hesitating. “That is, if you still want—?”

“I do,” Silver said, too quickly to be anything but the truth he kept spilling out over Flint’s feet. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop it.

There was a terrible pause before Flint belatedly reacted: a short nod and curt “Good.”

After a moment of deliberation, he closed the small distance Silver had put between them, stepping carefully between his legs. Flint moved slowly; Silver could have pulled away if he wished. He wanted to flee, feeling unmoored and unprepared now that his half-cocked offer to fuck Flint had been taken up. The prospect of Flint being close enough to touch, alluring in the abstract, seemed too much in practice.

Silver spread his thighs a little more so his leg would not be jostled. He could feel the heat from Flint’s body on the inside of his legs, a promise he couldn’t wait to be fulfilled. His heart was beating painfully fast. He hoped Flint didn’t take him for a trembling virgin.

Recklessly, Silver met his gaze. He heard Flint’s breath catch.

“I am not well practiced at following the advice in that inscription.” Flint’s voice was tight and hoarse. He looked like he wanted to say more about its author but could not express a thing necessarily left unspoken. Silver found he could not bear to hear Flint talk of T.H. now, not like this.

“You don’t owe me your history.”

It didn’t ease Flint entirely, but his eyes crinkled in a tiny smile. “You won’t demand that of me, too?” he teased.

“Never.”

Silver’s earnestness surprised them both, but Flint didn’t pull away. He solemnly put his hand to Silver’s neck, “Even if I don’t owe it, I may tell you one day. I want to tell someone. I’ve begun to think the right person is you.”

Silver surged forward to kiss him. He couldn’t make the same pledge; he was already undone by the tenderness of Flint’s touch and his words. How could he take any more than this? And yet he wanted everything from Flint: a fuck, a kiss, an aching, soft touch. He wanted to possess all his secrets, to be the sole object of the gentle fervency hidden behind his public mask. How could Silver have thought he would be satisfied with only Flint’s grudging respect?

Once he realized Silver was not headbutting him, Flint eagerly returned the kiss. Flint’s hand on his neck shifted into Silver’s hair, cupping the back of his head; the other came up to grip his waist. His mustache was coarse against Silver’s lips. The lapels of Flint’s leather coat were caught up in his fists, a hold better suited to a fight than an embrace. Both their breathing quickened.

Silver had not been kissed by another man since he was barely out of boyhood, before he had grown sharp enough to ward off unwanted advances. It was not something he had much enjoyed on its own merits at the time, nor partaken in since. Now, he had barely had time to recognize the desire before he had acted on it, let alone time to predict whether Flint would accept it. It was just as well that he had acted thoughtlessly, because he probably would have decided not to risk it. Silver might never have been caught like this against the edge of the captain’s desk, Flint’s body pressed as tightly to his as before, when Flint had been ready to kill him, but instead being held like someone precious and desirable. He felt drunk.

When Flint had cut his hair, Silver had been taken aback by the force of his reaction. He had mourned the loss nearly as much as the absence of his leg, before realizing it was the laudanum. It always made him sloppy in his feelings, and he had refused to take any more. No one else had seemed to care, but even sober, Silver had been sure Flint’s lost hair meant something. Some sort of penance or mourning for Mrs. Barlow’s death? More likely, something to make his appearance suitable for ransacking colonies and murdering governors. Somehow, his hair looked both more and less red when it was just stubble. In his pain-wracked haze, Silver had thought that must have been part of Flint’s decision, though he didn’t know how. He wondered about Flint’s decisions because he knew that they were never thoughtless, their consequences never unmeasured. He wondered if his shorn head felt rough or soft. 

Silver found that it was soft against his palm, but with an intriguing grain. He couldn’t resist greedily running his hand over it again and again. Flint gave a rumbling sigh of bemusement. Silver could feel the vibration of it in his chest, sending a shiver down his back. “Have you never encountered short hair before?”

“Not since I was very small and couldn’t fight back.” Since Flint hadn’t objected to being petted, Silver gave in to the urge to do it again. “I probably still have a scar from the last razor.”

Experimentally, Flint drew his fingers through Silver’s tangled hair and pushed it behind his ear. “Well, I suppose it suits you.” He smirked, “Hard to forget a man with ears like that.”

“Fuck you,” Silver said lightly, and flicked his hair loose.

Flint’s expression abruptly shuttered. “Not tonight.”

Stung, Silver let his hands fall from his shoulders. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know. I just—” Flint stepped back. His eyes flicked over to the bookshelf again and his mouth twisted, betraying his thoughts. “Some other night, perhaps. It’s nearly four bells. We’ll be expected in the mess.”

At least Flint seemed to expect him to come back. That was some consolation, but he didn’t know why Flint wouldn’t at least let him pull him off. Nobody would think it unusual if they were a few minutes late to supper. It was such a transparent excuse. Silver felt a rush of jealous hatred for the man who occupied Flint’s thoughts even while he was hard for Silver. He doubted T.H. had been yanked to and fro by shifts in Flint’s temper as mercurial as this. T.H. had been sure of his place in Flint’s bed, so much so he might even have taken his touch for granted.

“Fine,” he bit out. “If you’d prefer to be unsatisfied.”

Flint looked unhappy to end it like this, but he did not stop Silver from limping to the door. He might want another kiss nearly as badly as he did, but Silver didn’t trust his read of Flint’s mood enough to dare risk it.

Awake in his hammock that night, full of hunger that bread couldn’t satisfy, he counted his sins – greed, wrath, pride, envy, lust – and he hoped that Flint was lying awake, thinking about Silver, too. 

* * *

 Silver had not expected to fall asleep, but he woke up in the moonlight. It was their second day anchored at Nassau. Over the sound of the waves, distant shouting and singing told him it was late enough that the crew on the beach was very drunk, but not yet late enough for them to have passed out. He had missed supper.

“For a man who hates the sea, you didn’t spend much time ashore.”

Recovering from the shock of discovering Flint was in the cabin, Silver propped himself up on an elbow. “Didn’t seem to be much point to staying away.” He took the canteen of water Flint offered. Clear, fresh well water was a treat in port, but he hadn’t been in Nassau long enough to get it. It was still cool; Flint must have ordered a special launch and only just come aboard.

“Muldoon said you twisted your leg?”

Coming out of the launch at the beach, his boot had slipped on a stone in the shallows. Without an ankle to roll, it had nearly sent him tumbling into the surf. If he hadn’t been able to catch himself in time, Silver would have died of the humiliation. He’d had to take advantage of Flint’s offer of his cabin so he could take the boot off to relieve the strain on his stump and twisted knee. It was only sore now, and he would have been able to walk fine by the morning with none the wiser, if Muldoon hadn’t opened his big mouth. “So what?” he said sharply. “The fucking gossips on this ship are worse than fishwives.”

 “We were just surprised that you came back to the ship on it.” Flint ignored the venomous look Silver shot him and took away the canteen. He had left in a dark shirt but come back in a fine white one. It was worn thin from washing. Without the waistcoat that should have gone over it, he looked nearly indecent. He was relaxed enough to have taken off his coat and heavy gun belt, a state of undress that became more alarming when he sat on the bed next to Silver’s knees. Silver had taken off his own coat and his boots when he had laid down. The leg of his pants was still rucked up from when he had checked the raw skin on his stump had not torn, making the empty space of his missing limb that much more visible.

“You could have stayed in town. The apothecary might have had something to help.”

Silver’s eyes narrowed at Flint’s pretended innocence. “The crew wanted to buy me a whore again.”

“Oh?” Flint was beginning to look smug. “And you declined?”

“I didn’t want a whore. I wanted some peace and quiet, and  _you_  were supposed to be gone until tomorrow.”

The captain always went ashore the first day. After making arrangements with Mr. Scott to resupply the ship, Flint had gone into the interior. As far as Silver knew, it was the first time he had done so since Mrs. Barlow’s death. He didn’t know what Flint finally visiting his previous partner’s home meant. Since their aborted encounter several days ago, their tentative rapport had held, but they had not kissed again, let alone fucked. Up until now, Silver had been only moderately certain that they were still going to. The way Flint was looking at him, he was almost positive they were going to fuck now.

Despite Silver’s honest insistence that he hadn’t expected to be found there, Flint looked pleased with himself and the circumstances. “Regardless, you ended up in  _my_  bed.” Silver was not surprised that he was a possessive lover. That his attitude made Silver’s belly shiver in excitement,  _that_  was unexpected.

“You don’t seem to mind,” he said, huskier than he had intended. The light was good enough that he could see Flint’s eyes darken.

“I told you my cabin was at your disposal if you needed to rest.”

Silver took him by the front of his shirt – “I’m rested” – and they crashed together.

Flint caught himself on the bed, the sudden shift in weight making the ropes creak ominously. They would have to be careful not to fall, Silver thought absently, having to gasp for air because his nose was mashed against Flint’s cheek. It felt freshly shaved, like Flint had decided to come back early and for some reason thought he might want to look his best. Inanely, Silver wondered if Flint minded his unkempt beard.

“Fuck,” Flint groaned into his throat, free hand roaming up and down Silver’s side, hot as a brand even through his shirt.

“Yes, yes,” Silver said eagerly, not about to pass up the chance while Flint was randy and willing. “Can we?”

“Can we?” Flint repeated absently, distracted with the tensed line of his neck. Silver grabbed his hand and put it on his crotch, ensuring he and Flint were on the same page.

“Oh.” Flint bared his teeth in a shark’s grin and squeezed. “Cheeky brat.”

“Are you going to fuck me?”

“Yeah, I’ll fuck you.” He pushed himself up without breaking eye contact. “Take off your pants.”

Flint went over to the desk, presumably for something slick. Without his big shoulders filling the bed, Silver suddenly recalled that his stump would be fully exposed to someone other than Howell for the first time. He shoved down the fear and revulsion that realization produced and yanked his belt off. That would be true no matter who it was or when, so he might as well have done with it. Flint hadn’t minded so far. Silver kept his shirt on, though. Irrationally, he wanted to have some covering even if it didn’t cover the problem.

Flint would probably be considerate, but just in case, Silver sucked on two fingers, planted his foot, and reached down to do some preliminary stretching. Being up on his knees for any length of time was not advisable, so he could only be on his back. Flint seemed to like kissing, so he probably wouldn’t mind that extremely intimate position, and Silver forgot everything else when his tongue was in his mouth. It would be a nice distraction.

A pantsless Flint returned with a small pot, his erection tenting his shirt as he watched. The thin fabric left little to the imagination. Silver’s mouth went dry.

“Let me?” Flint sounded like he had the same problem. He sweetly kissed Silver’s upturned knee as he crawled between his legs. Silver’s cock throbbed.

Flint’s oiled fingers pressed inside him felt larger than his own. He wasn’t rough, but the feeling was—odd. He held onto the hanging ropes grimly. It should be easy to stay present when Flint was watching him so intently, but Silver had to remind himself repeatedly that this was not likely to turn into a rude encounter. He and Flint both wanted each other; Flint was even stroking his cock to keep it hard. Silver had wanted and asked for this.

“Ready?”

Silver let out a shuddery breath and nodded. Once the fingers were gone, he felt a little clearer. He wished Flint would kiss him on the mouth instead of on his belly and thighs. That was nice, but not enough to let him forget what was coming. He enjoyed watching Flint slick his cock, his thick thighs spread, hair tickling the underside of Silver’s knees, but he still was apprehensive. Flint’s red, greedy cock was bigger than his two fingers.

Then Flint hitched Silver’s other leg up against his side, leaned forward, and pushed in, sucking kisses under his jaw as he went. It hurt. Not much after all their ministrations, but Silver’s ass apparently remembered everything he had tried to forget. It was hard to tell the difference between this relatively minor discomfort and memories of other pain. The uncomfortable fullness made him glad that he hadn’t eaten.

“Silver?”

“Yeah, keep going,” he said, his voice sounding strangely thin to his own ears. “It feels good. Fuck me.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.” Silver didn’t know if that was true or not. It seemed improbable with the heat of Flint’s body covering him, pressing him open, but it was the only explanation he could think to give.

Shifting awkwardly onto his elbow, Flint put his other hand on Silver’s side again. The weight made him aware that his heart was hammering in his chest even though he hadn’t done anything.

 “Let me up. Silver, let go.” Silver realized that his arms were wrapped tightly around Flint’s neck, his hands fisting his shirt. Of course, with his shoulders held down like that, Flint couldn’t get the leverage to pump his hips. As quickly as he could convince his hands to obey, Silver let go so Flint could take his pleasure.

Instead, Flint pulled away, sitting back on his heels. His cock coming out wasn’t much of a relief, but the stinging absence threw everything into sharp focus. “Where are you going?”

Flint ignored the question. “What the fuck, Silver? What are you trying to pull? You aren’t stupid enough to seduce me if without knowing if you fuck men, but I don’t know what else this could be.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not doing anything,” Silver protested, bewildered at what he could have done wrong and furious that he was being groundlessly accused again. He did feel cold now, without Flint over him.

Flint blew out a breath and visibly tried to calm himself, with limited success. “You clearly do not enjoy this, so I ask again: what the fuck are you doing?”

“First of all, lower your fucking voice. Neither of us would like to be seen like this. Second,” Silver jerked his shirt down over his nakedness, buying himself a second to think. If only there was a blanket to cover his leg. “I’m not doing anything. I am literally just lying here. I thought this was what you wanted. If there’s some particular act you want from me instead, well, I can’t be expected to read your mind.”

“That is not—” Flint interrupted himself and continued in a harsh whisper, “I thought we were in agreement that what we each wanted was a partner. If all I wanted was a warm place to stick my cock, there are  _less troublesome fucks_  than you,” he quoted Silver’s words back to him like a slap. Mortifyingly, Silver felt the sting of impending tears.

“Then why the fuck am I here?”

“Because I thought you loved me!”

There was an agonizing stretch of silence, broken only by the smack of the waves on the hull and Flint’s heaving breath. Flint looked stricken by his own words, yet defiantly unwilling to take them back. Silver had seen him accused of betrayal, beating in a man’s skull in a rage, tearfully clutching the friend he had murdered, tormented by the image of his own making, but those were nothing to the depths of emotion in his face now. That expression Silver had thought must be impertinent to a man like Flint,  _my truest love_ , was totally inadequate in comparison. It was terrifying to think he could be the object of a capacity of feeling so vast and overwhelming. Silver wanted to slip Flint in his coat like something golden and steal him, so no one else would ever see it again and Flint would know nothing else but him.

“Or that you could someday,” Flint amended pointlessly, looking away and preparing to stand. “But it does not matter. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

Silver shot upright before Flint could get off the bed, not willing to let Flint to leave thinking that. But in the face of Flint’s naked emotions, their apparently mutual starving desire, the ability to find charming words deserted him. Misrepresenting the truth or professing feelings he did not have was easy, if the cause was right, but he truly had no designs in worming his way into Flint’s bed. This relationship was so obviously against his own interest that Silver had given up trying to justify it to himself. He could not fathom why Flint was taken in by him, too. To say nothing of his being crippled, Silver was no longer so pretty or so good at playing the innocent as he had been when he was young. He had not allowed himself to think that it could be the same inexplicable magnetic pull he felt, to say nothing of love.

“I want this, I swear,” he whispered. “I want you.”

The words were stupid, but his expression was beyond his control. It would be less revealing and less agonizing, Silver was sure, if Flint broke apart his ribs with his bare hands to examine his heart and lungs.

“But you do not enjoy this.”

“Well,” he attempted to sound flippant, to put the incident out of Flint’s mind “A cock up the ass isn’t ever really enjoyable.”

Flint had been less astonished when Silver had told him Billy was back from the dead than he did at that admission. Apparently, he thought sourly, T.H. had always managed to hide  _his_  discomfort. “It was not painful,” he hastily clarified. “It’s a minor discomfort, well worth it for everything else. I wanted to take it, for you.”

“Why would you assume I—?” Flint stopped. It was obvious why Silver would have assumed that was the way it would go. He was younger, lower status, weaker, even a little smaller in comparison to Flint. As true as it was, they both also knew that Silver would resent having to lay out this reasoning aloud. It was bad enough to know Flint was thinking it, too.

After an internal struggle that seemed to Silver to last an age, Flint managed to ask, “But you did like everything else before the cock in your ass? Actually liked it, not only endured it?”

“Yes, I swear I did.”

“You weren’t—disgusted.”

“No!” This was the worst conversation of Silver’s life, even outranking when the crew would not listen when he told them not to amputate his foot. If only his treacherous body had not failed him again and just taken the fucking. “It was—good.”

“Okay,” Flint accepted this poor answer haltingly. “Good.”

Slowly, Flint reached out to where Silver was twisting the hem of his shirt so his fingers brushed the underside of his wrist. Silver didn’t pull away, but Flint just kept his hand there, waiting with his palm up. Feeling idiotic and unable to meet his eyes, Silver put his hand in Flint’s. His breath caught as Flint lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles, over a ring he had taken off a Dutch merchant not quite dead from the bullet Silver had put in his belly. From the feeling in his chest, Silver might have been shot, too.

“I’m sorry.” Head still bowed, Flint was unaware that Silver was gaping at him. “It’s been a long time since—”

He met his eyes, sorrowful and soft and heated at once. “I don’t take this lightly.”

“I’d guess you’ve never done anything lightly in your life,” Silver rasped, belatedly finding his voice.

That drew a flicker of a smile. “Not that I recall.” Putting Silver’s hand on his cheek, Flint turned his head to kiss his palm, his wrist, watching the effect this nearly chaste act had on Silver. “Truly,” he murmured, breath making goosebumps rise on his arm, “I didn’t mean to pressure you into something upsetting.”

“You didn’t! I wanted you.”

A touch of arrogance smoldered in Flint’s smirk, as comforting in its familiarity as it was annoying. “I’m getting that impression.”

It needed a clever retort, but Silver didn’t trust himself to speak now. He’d much rather get on with it. And after the day he’d had, he was in no mood to deny himself.

Flint took some coaxing to get back to his original fervor, but the process was as pleasurable as the result. They kissed as if it could sustain them. He had to discourage Flint from leaving bruises where they would show at his open collar. To make up for it, he stripped off his shirt; nothing could be worse than the previous disaster, and he was beginning to be certain Flint did not think much about his leg at all. Flint swore to see him and bore Silver down onto his back again. By the time the watch bell sounded, Flint was distracting him so with his mouth on his nipples and hand on his cock that Silver could not say if it was three four bells. He could barely keep quiet under Flint’s ministrations.

“If I am not allowed to kiss your neck, you cannot scratch my head.”

“Say it was a cat.” Silver nearly yelped when Flint pinched the tip of his prick in retaliation. “What, would a cat not dare attack the dashing Captain Flint?”

Flint surged up and kissed him deeply, pressing their cocks together. Silver took the opportunity to rake his nails over Flint’s ass.

He arched into the touch. “Heroes in novels are dashing. Captain Flint is not fucking dashing.”

“You could be a hero,” Silver said, automatically contradictory. His mind was mostly occupied with the fact that firmly gripping Flint’s ass cheek prompted more urgent thrusting. He shifted his grip lower, trying to widen Flint’s stance and guide his hips to a mutually beneficial situation.

Flint groaned and sat up, grabbing the base of his own cock to hold off coming. “I was going to suck you, but now you have to wait.”

“But you liked that!”

“Yeah.” Flint groped around the edge of the pallet until he found the pot of oil. “I like this, too.”

Mouth open, Silver watched him reach back to press the fingers he had put inside Silver inside himself. It was indecent. It was obscene that he would—

The challenge on Flint’s face halted the instinct to say that he did not have to do this. For the first time, Silver was grateful that T.H. had had Flint first, had told him to be unashamed to do this.

“You should have told me you don’t like it. Not everyone does. I do.” Even though his cock had softened a bit, Flint was flushed and heavy-lidded with pleasure, rocking against his hand. He huffed out a laugh, “I thought  _this_  was what you meant when you offered to fuck me.”

Silver had not considered the possibility. Even knowing that some men did like getting fucked, it seemed absurdly incongruous with everything he knew about Flint, both the façade and the man underneath it. He could scarcely believe the evidence in front of his eyes. And yet seeing Flint so exposed and wanton filled Silver with awe as much as lust. He was breathtaking as he pleasured himself, but so was the sheer trust in Silver that it proved, the desire for him it demonstrated. He could not believe the evidence of his eyes. Like doubting Thomas, he had to put his fingers to the penetration Flint’s shirt concealed. Flint took out his fingers and they both gasped as Silver pressed inside the clutching heat of his body. Silver was humbled before him.

“I can’t be on my knees,” he breathed.

“I can ride you. I want to ride you.” Flint kissed his upturned face once and then pushed him back onto his elbows. He shuffled forward on his knees, taking his seat eagerly. “Oh, God. Fuck, that’s good, John.”

“Fuck, you’re warm, shit.” Silver shifted restlessly for friction. “Fucking move, please.”

Flint obeyed, his gorgeous thighs flexing hypnotically. Grinning with abandon, he threw off his sweaty shirt and started pulling himself off. He was fucking beautiful. Silver rocked up to meet him as firmly as he could with little leverage, to remind Flint who was fucking him. They made the whole bed swing, ropes squeaking rhythmically. Silver barely noticed, his gaze locked with Flint’s as they built towards completion.

The bed knocked into the cannon with a jarring thump. They both froze, panting, as they creaked to a standstill. Silver nearly burst into laughter at the wide-eyed look on Flint’s face. “Your thighs are a fucking menace!” He couldn’t have stopped grinning if the whole night watch had burst in on them, especially when Flint snorted so loudly he clapped a hand over his mouth and then dissolved into sniggers at his own silliness.

“Shut up,” he calmed down enough to say. “I want to come on your cock.”

That was a great plan, so Silver generously did not bring up the fact that Flint had been the only one making noise. Steadying himself on Silver’s shoulders, Flint put one foot on the floor to keep them from swaying too much. Silver kissed the side of his thumb. Flint cupped his jaw, hungrily watching Silver’s mouth on his palm.

Shifting so he could squeeze the muscle in one of Flint’s perfect thighs, Silver grinned up at him. “Come on, didn’t you want to come?”

Flint started moving, but his angle was wrong. He put his hands on the bed frame instead. The position kept him close enough to kiss, but soon they were both breathing too hard and smiling too much to do much but press their mouths together. Refusing to feel embarrassed, Silver gave into the temptation to grab Flint’s hand planted next to his. Putting his weight onto his wrist, Flint traded comfort and stability for the pleasure of holding his hand.

“You better hurry the fuck up,” Silver gasped. Flint nodded, putting all his weight onto that forearm so he could use the other hand to pull frantically on his cock. “God, you are so good. You are so gorgeous. Fuck, please, James.”

Totally silent, with his eyes closed, Flint came into his hand. It was the practiced, practical completion of a man who grew up in barracks. Bathed in silvery moonlight, he had the beatific expression of a saint. Distracted by this new layer of Flint, Silver stopped moving. Nobody else knew this about him. If Silver had his way, only he would ever see this sight again.

Flint blinked back to awareness and gave him an unsaintly grin. He started riding him again, groaning once and then, seeing that Silver liked that, making a soft noise each time his cock thrust into his oversensitive hole. Flint kissed Silver as he came, muffling his helpless cry.

Silver flopped down, overwhelmed. His fingers were tingling after holding himself up on his elbows so long. Wiping his hand on the hem of his shirt, Flint chuckled, “I don’t know why you’re so exhausted when I did all the work.”

“And you wore me out,” Silver agreed. “Jesus, I haven’t been fucked like that since I got inducted to this crew.”

Flint only grunted in reply, wincing as he pulled off. His knee popped as he stood up. Seeing Silver winding up for a joke, he warned, “If you ever want to do that again, don’t.”

“All I was going to say,” Silver temporized, “was that I had suspected you would be a spectacular fuck, and I was right. And much cheaper than five whores.”

Flint snorted but looked secretly pleased as he wiped himself down with the washrag.

“So I can expect you to come knocking at my door again?” Flint’s nonchalance as he handed over the rag was an obvious performance; either he was not concealing himself with much care, or Silver could read his mood more clearly now.

He scoffed. “I’ve never knocked, but you might not get to sleep in this bed again. You put your cabin at my disposal, remember?”

“I did, but now I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Captain can’t sleep in the crew’s quarters. Billy would have a fit.”

Flint changed out of his sweaty white shirt and into one of the darker ones he usually wore at sea. He gave only a single tantalizing glimpse of total nudity. Taking the rag back from a dazed Silver, he tossed it carelessly towards the washbasin and leaned on the hanging rope by his feet. He smiled fondly, “If you don’t want to be slept on, you’ll have to get out of my bed.”

Silver thought he might want to be slept on. Though he sometimes felt he could not lift his own, he wanted to have the weight of Flint’s limbs on him through the night and late into the morning. He wanted the astonishing heat of Flint’s body, even though the nights were not cold. He wanted to make a study of his freckles, to count and categorize them like a natural philosopher would, though he jealously wished that nobody would see them but him. Silver thought he would like to sleep on Flint, too, to cover and shield him from everything so that he would not have to be Captain Flint all the time. He wanted to let him rest in perfect security so Flint could tell him his secrets and Silver would help keep them hidden from every other living soul in the world. He was a glutton for Flint, this man who tempted him so incessantly. Silver had no intention of trying to resist any longer.

But he sat up. It was late, and someone would wonder if he stayed through the night after Flint had come back from Nassau. Flint brought him his clothes and his boot, handing them to him one by one. Silver wondered if this was what having a valet was like. It was ridiculous that it was a job to help a perfectly able adult dress, but it gave him a silly, warm feeling, like his clothes now carried something of Flint’s regard in them. Even his hated iron peg, which hurt as much as ever when he shoved his stump into it and tightened the buckles, seemed less hideous when Flint cared nothing about it except to kiss the grimace of pain off his lips and offer him a hand in standing. He would have found it offensive even a few hours ago, but Silver accepted his help. Flint would understand the trust and depth of feeling in that gesture.

At last, Flint handed Silver coat and watched him put it on. “I wish I had a bigger bed,” he said, quiet and raw.

“I don’t. If it was any bigger, we might have knocked that canon loose.”

Flint snorted again and smacked him lightly on the chest.

Silver thought this was what the novelists meant when they described maidens besotted with the hero. He ached for one last kiss, so he took it; Flint gave it happily, winding a curl around his fingers.

“I wish I could stay.”

“Aren’t you staying? The way that matters, anyway?” He felt Flint’s crooked smile against his lips and the puff of his breath as he murmured, “You called me James.”

Silver suspected he had, but countered, “You called me John.”

“Well, I liked you using my name, so I suppose I shall have to call you by yours again.”

It took Silver a moment to form the words acknowledging his desire. “I’d like that. James.”

Flint kissed his hand again. Silver wanted to offer Flint the Dutch merchant’s ring, but he couldn’t admit something like that yet. Flint did not want for rings and it probably wouldn’t fit over his knuckles thickened from fist fights.

Regretfully, he stepped away. “Goodnight, Captain.”

Flint was still wearing only his shirt. His bare feet looked vulnerable. “Mr. Quartermaster.”

They weren’t words of love, but Silver wouldn’t have trusted those. They were words of respect, and he felt the truth of them. It wasn’t cool inside the ship, but Silver was glad to feel surrounded by the warmth of that regard, Flint’s testimony to it echoing in his ears.

If this was the sweet poison of falling irredeemably into sin, Silver did not intend to seek shelter in any house of refuge but the one Flint had offered him in his cabin. He limped back to bed, sore and hungry, and wondered how often they would be able to indulge.

Thinking about the look on Flint’s face when he came, Silver was still grinning like an idiot when he got back to crew quarters and ran into Billy. It put an abrupt halt to his dreamy recollection of the evening. Apparently coming off a watch shift along with the men already snoring, Billy paused in wiping himself down before bunking in to stare at him.

When Silver nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything, he asked, “Were you in Flint’s quarters?”

“As a matter of fact, I was. Fell asleep there this afternoon. Flint didn’t bother to wake me.”

It was true, though nowhere near the whole truth. Billy was still squinting suspiciously at him, so Silver added, “You can rest easy tonight, Billy. The captain and I worked out our differences.”

Billy grunted. “If you say so.”

“I’d know, wouldn’t I?”

“I guess.” As he took his peg off, Billy kept watching him with narrow-eyed skepticism. “You had worked it out days ago, I thought. You were back to what passes for normal. This is something new.”

Silver wanted to snap at him to mind his own fucking business, but he held his tongue. Billy and his mistrust were thorns enough in his side without him acting blatantly suspicious. “I guess sleeping in a better excuse for a bed than this fucking scrap of canvas must have put me in a good mood. Things’ll be back to normal by morning.”

Billy wouldn’t buy that, but he would always be squinting over one thing or another anyway. Stump throbbing from the abuse of getting into and out of the peg in quick succession, Silver settled into his hammock, thinking hard. Even if most of the men were oblivious or easily fobbed off, Billy was going to be a problem. Killing him would solve the immediate problem, but not the one looming on the horizon.

A hymn sprang to mind, and Silver silently tapped the music against his knee as he recalled the words:

 _Jerusalem on high, my song that city is,_  
My home whene’er I die, the center of my bliss;  
O happy place! When shall I be,  
My God, with Thee, to see Thy face?

Now that he’d had a taste of Flint, Silver wanted more than trysts in the captain’s quarters between pillaging. But as long as they stayed on the Walrus, he would never be able to sleep at Flint’s side. The threat of discovery would always hang over their heads, but if they left the ship, surely they could find privacy enough for Silver to not wear his goddamned peg and fuck Flint in a real four-post bed. They could take some small fortune with none the wiser and go anywhere. Silver would help him make a new persona, one that fit the man beneath it better than dread pirate Captain Flint did. If Silver gave him enough practice, Flint might learn to be loud in his pleasure.

He could convince Flint to leave the account. Silver knew how he would do it, if Flint wasn’t already on the same page with him. He had no doubts as to whether they could build a new life together once they determined to do so. As he fell asleep, he was pondering instead if it would it be sweeter to hear Flint reduced to wordless cries or for him to say Silver’s name as he came.


End file.
